Bombshell
by Kathryne Buzolic
Summary: Marissa Fairchild gets an unexpected 'promotion', and isn't sure what to make of it. Soon, she finds out that the 'brat' she's taking care of isn't exactly normal...Or maybe shadows cling to all kids these days. Either way, something seems to be a bit off with Selim Bradley, and she's not quite sure she wants to know what it is...Ignorance is supposed to be bliss, right?


**OHMYGOSH AM I ACTUALLY PUBLISHING THIS WHAT?! Title is subject to change, as is summary! This is just a bit of choppiness—real first chapter will be posted soon...ish. Possibly tomorrow? (This is what WRF gets for asking me to publish this before I had everything edited...) **

**DISCLAIMER: Really? Someone who owns Fullmetal Alchemist or ANY of its characters is going to be sitting at home at 10 o'clock on a Friday night writing fanfiction? That's _really_ what you think?**

* * *

When you think of the military, it's likely you think of guns, war, government, things like that, right? You probably wouldn't think of tiny desks, itchy uniforms, and doing your (lazyass) superior's paperwork, huh?

Well, that's exactly what I used to associate the military with. I wasn't part of the Ishval Civil War, and I hadn't been appointed to Fort Briggs, so I had never been part of any ongoing conflict—other than trying to stop the Colonel (lazyass) from suckering me into doing his paperwork, and occasionally dealing with Edward Elric, who was more amusing than a nuisance, anyway. I was a lieutenant who usually sat in cigarette smoke and signed my (lazyass) superior's papers with an accuracy I could never bring myself to be proud of.

I should probably introduce myself, considering this is my story that you'll be hearing about. Second Lieutenant Marissa Fairchild, reporting for duty. I used to work under Colonel (lazyass) Roy Mustang, with Jean Havoc, Riza Hawkeye, Kain Fuery, Heymans Breda, and Vato Falman. That all changed on the six-month mark of my doing Roy's paperwork. (True lazyass. He usually spent the day face down on his desk while I made notes of reports and read things I _probably _shouldn't have.)

Though a trained soldier and an intelligent young woman (or so I like to think), I was hardly a person worth the Fuhrer's attention, unless he was going to punish me for forging Mustang's signature. Imagine my surprise when the Fuhrer's personal assistant came up to my desk and gave me a life-changing letter.

_By order of Fuhrer King Bradley, 2nd Lt. Marissa Fairchild will report to Central Headquarters at 14:00, Febuary 17th, for the promotion of Selim Bradley's new bodyguard._

I'm pretty sure I choked on my own spit when I read that. Guarding the Fuhrer's brat? I was pretty sure that was a job pretty much impossible to get, and I, who did nothing but sit on my ass and do paperwork I wasn't supposed to, had gotten it.

Guarding Selim Bradley was nearly as important as guarding the Fuhrer himself. The snot-nosed rat could have easily been a linchpin, a possible compromise in a hostile situation. Or so I assumed. I knew from previous experience that the brat was heavily guarded at all times, and it was usually big burly men surrounding him with their guns at the ready.

So, what was I supposed to do? I was a skinny twenty-nine year old who didn't even _like _kids, important or not. I wasn't specially trained, and, despite being moderately trustworthy, I was pretty sure I would have had to go through _extensive _training and background checks.

Yet I had gotten the job like it was nothing. Something hadn't felt right with it, and I would soon learn why. Well...After I whined to Havoc about not even liking kids and muttered sourly for a few hours. It was a great promotion, don't get me wrong, but it hadn't made _any sense. _Things like this didn't _happen. _It just wasn't realistic.

When I got the job, I had expected to be following around some important brat and try to not wring his neck when he ordered me around.

What I hadn't expected was for him to be made of nightmares.

And _no, _that isn't the part of me hating kids talking.

I mean literal nightmare. The sort of thing that makes you keep your light on when you go to bed. (Even though you're only screwing yourself over that way with him...)

I remember one of the first things I said about this job. "This is going to end badly. I can just tell."

Really wish I would have known how _right _I was going to be.

* * *

**Yep—so...This is the prologue. Basically a tester, to see if anyone's even interested in reading this. (I know WRF is, but it's not like I don't send her tidbits of writing ANYWAY. She'd eventually get the whole fic.) Let me know what you think, and if the reaction's positive, I'll post the actual chapter soon! Please, don't be mean, though. I'M SENSITIVE. **

**And if you guys want actual QUALITY, then keep an eye out for High Dive, which'll more than likely be posted tomorrow.**


End file.
